Chapter 1

    Lucy POV

    

    Georgetown, North America, 2000.

    

    Here, in my quiet room, I glanced through the window made of woods and watched the dried yellow leaves dropping like snow from the oak beside the quiet streets. A cool breeze darted inside as I opened the window wide and a dried leaf flew inside on the breeze’s wings. Looking at the leaf as it dropped on my new typewriter, I felt that the tree moans that she lost a child.

    

    And here, I picked the leaf and gazed at it for a while, hoping it feel my feelings, too. For now, I and the dried leaf were in the same category, feeling the same feeling of losing a mother. I remembered I was sobbing behind the closing door last night while my granny walked in with tiredness on her face. That night I observed she tired of consoling me, but I wished she understand I tired of her consoling me, too. She should at least leave me in the room for weeks to let me cry. I hated her for coming in without knocking and I hate myself for not locking the door. She hugged me and she smelt of tuna, woods, and witch’s scent.

    

    “Lucy,” she had said then, “it wasn’t your fault that your mother died.” Her voice, half-mourning, broke off for a length of time in silence, and then it returned like a slow wind dancing out of boiling water. “It was my fault for telling you the truth. It was my entire fault for telling you that my daughter had died.”

    

    Yeah, I had lived for eighteen years believing a lie that my mother traveled to Los Angeles for business stuff and granny promised me that my mother would come back for me when I clock eighteen years old. And the joy of clocking eighteen years old danced in me last morning, but it turned to sorrow after my granny knocked at my door that morning and surprised me with her sweet voice, singing a happy birthday song to my ears. I remembered I can’t wait to ask for my mother while she was singing and then she asked me to close my eyes till she returned. Puzzled, I closed my eyes, thinking; she wants to surprise me as she walked out; half-expecting that my mother would enter my room with her.

    

    Opening my eyes to her commands, I saw a picture glistening on a new typewriter. I picked it up and stared at it for a while, a woman in white beaming beside a man in black. The woman’s pretty face resembled granny’s.

    

    “Granny,” I had said back then, “Is this you?” I looked at her face, but she looked down, staring at her feet. After all, I wasn’t expecting this and then I felt uneasy. The uneasy wasn’t because of the typewriter, or the couple's picture, but of granny’s eyes dripping tears. I took my handkerchief from the rocking chair, but she nodded and motioned me to drop it.

    

    “Lucy,” she said amid her tears, “your mother asked me to buy a typewriter for you when you reach eighteen years old.” She wiped her tears off as I remained silent in confusion, but the more she wiped the tears off, the more it rains.

    

    “Granny, it’s okay.” I thought she was shedding the tears of joy of fulfilling the request of my mother.

    

    “No, my dear, this is not a tear of joy.” She had read my thoughts, as she often does with her witch power.

    

    I felt my heart probing against my chest. I hold my chest from pounding but failed, and I felt the fear behind the words dropping from my mouth. “You are scaring me.”

    

    “I’m sorry for not saving for your father before bloody jackals kill him”

    

    “It’s nothing anymore granny. You once told me that and I had already forgiven you. It wasn’t your fault, anyway.”

    

    “Can you find a place in your heart to forgive me for telling you a lie about your mom?”

    

    “A lie?” I asked

    

    “Your mother died after giving birth to you.” Her voices stunned my heart and left it in pieces.

    

    Since then I hadn’t forgiven her, and it seemed I won’t forever.

    

    Alone in the room now, I realized my tears had dropped on the dried leaf on my palm, and then my tears burned it to asses. That is why my granny doesn’t want me to cry. My tears can burn anything when am in great pain. Yes, my tears can burn anything except the human being. I swiftly cleaned my tears before they dropped on the typewriter and the picture. The tears filled my eyes, and I felt like burning everything in my room, but the fear of regretting later held me back.

    

    Not long after the night had covered the sky, several voices woke me in my quiet bed. I felt a tingling in my tummy as a voice mentioned my name outside. It sounds strange, and it wasn’t my granny’s voice. I stood, walked to the door, and paused, listening. The voice seemed to come from the backyard and, to my astonishment; I found the backyard door opened.

    

    Only my granny got the key to that door, and she had never opened it before, or she might have, but not in my presence. Slowly, I tiptoed to the backyard door, and I hide behind the back door as the voice echoed again. Did that strange person see me? I closed my eyes for a moment, waiting for the person to show up and point fingers at me. But nothing happened. No one came. Thanks to goodness, I was saved by the darkness.

    

    “Lucy would need your help.” Granny’s voice was saying now. I raised my eyebrows, and millions of questions passed through my mind. Who’s she speaking to? Why did I need a stranger’s help? I paused my thoughts after I realized my Granny might know my thoughts through her witch power. And then, after a few minutes, the stranger’s voice came again.

    

    “I would be happy to help her since she was part of me.” The stranger’s words dropped like a stone to my ears. How could I be part of someone I don’t know? Besides, the stranger was a girl. This is strange, but she sounds like me.

    

    “I’m glad to hear that,” Granny said, and coughed. “She hadn’t known that she had you, and I don’t want her to know yet. I don’t want any bad thing to happen to her in the city. She was gifted with a lot of spiritual power she hadn’t realized she had, and those jackals, vampires, werewolves, witches, and walkers would envy her.”

    

    “Why would she live in the city?” The stranger asked. I felt satisfied with that question because that’s what I want to decipher out.

    

    “Your mother came to me last night and reminded me to buy the typewriter for Lucy. She pleads I should allow Lucy to go to college even if she doesn’t want to,” Granny said, and I was confused again. She’s talking about my mother. Why should my mother be the mother of a stranger girl? Besides, she told me my mother had died. How could she come to her?

    

    “I hadn’t gotten over the pain of losing my mother.” The stranger-girl voices carried a poignant sorrowful tone out of her heart.

    

    “Well, it seems Lucy won’t forgive me for telling her the truth yesterday. I left her room when I tired of consoling her this morning. She doesn’t eat before she slept this night.” A few minutes passed in silence, which makes me feel uneasy to think they had caught me. “Sheena.” Granny’s voice broke the silence, and it raised my fear. “Please do everything in your power to protect her from every attack.”

    

    Here, I waited for Sheena to speak, but she didn’t. I saw a hole in the door; I didn’t hesitate to peep through it with one eye. Sheena was in a red gown was staring at her feet. I widened my eyes so that I could see her face, but I couldn’t. Then suddenly, a fire danced on Sheena’s hand, but she was still staring at her feet.

    

    “You don’t worry, Lucy is mine. I will do anything to save what’s mine.”

    

    I raised my eyebrows as Sheena raised her head. Now, I could see her face vividly through the door’s hole. I felt pangs of fear dancing like fire in my chest as Sheena’s face stunned me. This is strange, unbelievable. How could this be? I dropped my jaw, thirsting for a lot of answers. I want to run inside, but Oh, that Sheena’s face. Swiftly, I peeped again through the other eye to be sure what I saw. Could this be real? The fire glows, and I raised my eyebrows as she smiled at my Granny.

    

    The face I saw was my own.